What a Wicked Thing To Do To Make Me Dream of You
by Citizenjess
Summary: Erik thinks the nightmares will go away after the beach. They don't. Set a few months after "First Class."
1. Chapter 1

So otana earlier was like, "X-Men fandom is just like one giant Mary Sue fest, everyone has hilariously unnecessary powers and nobody ever dies and cliches abound and everything is shiny and nothing ever hurtsss." And I'm like, "ha ha, that is true. I KNOW, I am going to write a story where Erik has nightmares and needs comfort from Charles!" So I did. Sorry.

Summary: Erik thinks the nightmares will go away after the beach. They don't. Title is from Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game," which I know I've already used before for another 'fic, but uh, it just kind of worked a second time, so. Set a few months after "First Class."

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><p><strong>What a Wicked Thing To Do (To Make Me Dream of You)<strong>

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><p>He still dreams, horrible things that leave him panting and furiously brushing away tears in the middle of the night. He dreams that his mother is killed, again and again, in front of him, and he can't do anything to stop it because he can't move a single, stupid coin fast enough, and it's his fault, and he hates himself for that. He thinks the nightmares will stop once Shaw is dead, but then the events on the beach unfold completely that fateful day, and the dreams return, this time painted with the blood of Erik's best friend, and now, his worst enemy.<p>

On this night, he knows he's in the midst of another vision, can tell because Charles is standing in front of him, and Charles can't do that anymore, regardless of how much Erik would like him to be able to. "I loved you, you know," Charles tells him, and Erik smirks ruefully, crouched, on his knees.

"You still do."

"No," Charles intones steadily, and Erik's heart sinks as the other man's face hardens. Suddenly, his jaw is tighter; his eyes, usually so kind, even woeful, always carrying everyone's else's burdens in their depths, glint like ice. "No," Charles says again, and Erik feels his throat tighten. "I did once, of course," Charles sighs, looking off into the distance. "Once, I considered you the most important person in the world. I would have done everything for you. I did do everything for you.

"But things have changed," Charles continues, and Erik looks up at him, the words and Charles' cold, disgusted expression painful to take in. "I've realized how foolish you are; how foolish you've been ever since we met. It was only a matter of time before you went off the deep end, before I was forced to part ways or shut you down more permanently. I still dislike the latter option," he concedes, tilting his head with a small smile, and Erik shivers. "So I've let you go on your merry way, Erik. You don't need me anymore; and I don't want you, so it's mutually beneficial, really."

'I don't want you.' The words echo through Erik's mind. Unwittingly, he reaches up to clutch at his head, and hears Charles tsk. "Oh, really, now," the other man sneers, and the laughing tone in his voice is unfamiliar, but it stings. "Surely you must agree how ridiculous we were to think this would have ever worked. Do you know why, Erik?" Charles' voice is kind, now, and Erik looks up, startled, when the other man bends, leaning in intimately, the way he used to. Then he moves in for the kill: "It wouldn't have worked," Charles murmurs in his ear, "because you break everything you touch, Erik. Everyone you love, everything you try to do, it will all end in disaster, destruction. You will only ever be happy at others' expenses; and even then, it is a temporary bliss, at best. You ruined us; and you will destroy yourself in the end, even without me there to take another bullet for you, Erik." He moves away again, and Erik refuses to look up. Instead, he clutches at himself miserably, shaking, willing himself to remember how to keep breathing, though in truth, he's not sure why it matters anymore.

"I'm sorry," he gets out, and then he wakes up.

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><p>He lays in the dark for several minutes, eyes watering, breath coming in short gasps. His heart aches for the one person whose comfort he no longer deserves; but, he thinks eventually as the clock continues to tick the seconds by and he has to resist the urge to rip it off the wall, that doesn't mean he can't just reach out and take it.<p>

The phone rings four times before he hears a groggy, softly foreign voice lilt sleepily in his ear. "Xavier residence, Charles speaking," it says, and suddenly, Erik loses his nerve. "Hello?" Charles says, and Erik can picture him, hair mussed, dressed in his favorite striped blue pajamas, legs prone as he stretches out in bed, but still enough like how Charles used to be, how Erik remembers him when he thinks about their road trip or the too-short time spent training at the mansion, usually only after he's gotten properly soused and no one else is around to see him through the worst of it, for that not to matter all that much. "Hello?" Charles intones again, more lucid now, and Erik can hear the beginnings of irritation in his voice. "Look," Charles sighs, "I know someone is there. I can hear you breathing. I do wish to inform you that I could very easily call the authorities and have them trace the line ..."

Erik swallows. "Charles," he gets out, and is gratified to hear Charles' sharp intake of breath.

"Erik." The tone changes immediately; he can picture Charles sitting up straighter in bed, still clutching the receiver, his brows knit together. "Is something wrong?" he ventures, and Erik resists the urge to sigh. Of course, Charles would only assume him to be calling because he needed something.

"No," he says briefly. "Nothing's wrong. I just ..." What, he thought; 'I wanted to hear your voice'? 'I need you to assure me that you still care, that you'd still be there if I needed you, because I do, I miss you so much ...' He swallows again. "I think I dialed your number by mistake," he finally settles on, and then cringes at how stupid it sounds coming out of his mouth.

Fortunately, Charles is too tactful to point this out. "Ah," he says, and Erik half-expects him to hang up right then. Instead, Charles coughs softly to clear his throat. "Well," he adds, "I hope everything is well, Erik. I believe you should get some rest now, yes? It's a bit late."

"Yes," Erik says, and adds, "sorry."

"No worries," Charles says lightly, and it's so familiar; it'd be so easy, Erik knows, to show up there, to crawl into bed next to Charles, offering himself, offering anything Charles wants in supplication, if only Charles would let him curl up next to his warmth and love, even only for this one night. "Is that all, then?" Charles asks, and Erik clenches his free hand into a fist, knowing that he could be there in mere minutes, and that it's the last place he should be.

"That's all," Erik says, and with a final mental shrug, he manages to shove down the swirl of emotions that keep making him weak; let them all come out in another nightmare, he thinks vehemently. He'll be ready then. "Good night, Charles," he says with finality, taking his triumph where he can get it these days.

The other man's voice is sad. "Good night, Erik," he replies gently, and then adds, just before Erik replaces the receiver on its stand, "Be well."

'I still need you,' he thinks, and then curls back onto his side, his bed distinctly devoid of Charles Xavier, but the other man's presence still thankfully tangible, now, willing himself to slip into a(n albeit) dreamless sleep.


	2. After the Phone Call

Wrote a quick continuation of this via the LJ comment thread. More of the same: Angst and schmoop, and some man-cradling. Enjoy!

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><p>He's pretty sure he'd still be able to find the mansion, to find the place that, in his heart, is the only home he's ever had, even if he were to be struck blind and deaf. Flying overhead helps him avoid any of the security measures he's sure Charles has put in place - anything to ensure that his mutant children are safe and securely hidden - and also makes it relatively easy for him to reach Charles' bedroom without waking any of the house's other occupants.<p>

The window creaks a little as it swings open, and Erik winces; then he sees shiny eyes blinking curiously, yet fully awake, in the darkness, and realizes that Charles probably didn't go back to sleep either. "I thought you might come," the other man says, though he does not reach out to embrace Erik, nor does he shoo him away. "How are you, Erik?"

"I don't know," Erik says honestly. He steps down off of the window ledge, and feels, for the first time, hulking and awkward, standing there in his full regalia, rather than powerful and sharp, like someone who can single-handedly bring about mutant supremacy in the world. Now, however, all he wants is for Charles to assure him that he doesn't hate him, that this visit doesn't have to be the only one of its kind; that there's still a chance for them.

Charles interrupts his reverie, gently, yet firmly. "May I ask why you're here, then?" he queries. He watches Erik shuffle, and frowns, gesturing upwards. "Perhaps if you just removed the helmet," he suggests, and Erik inhales sharply. Then, after several long seconds of silence, he reaches up, tugging it from his skull, feeling his hair lift and then fall back into place, albeit somewhat more matted than it ever did before he felt the need to wear his telepathy-blocking headgear, and then it's just ... gone, and Charles is there. The other man doesn't pry, doesn't immediately jump into Erik's brain and start sorting through the refuse and moving things around; it occurs to Erik that he holds a lot of paranoia regarding what Charles could do, compared to what Charles would actually do, and it gives him pause.

He glances over at the other man, still propped up against several large pillows, his face tender, and Erik's heart thuds more quickly in his chest. "Erik, I would never ... reject you so heartlessly," Charles tells him, and Erik inwardly curses himself for not being able to shield the dream that's still apparently hanging out just on the peripheral of his thoughts, cajoling Charles to take a peek. He sees the other man's face contort, and his legs feel weak. "Is that really how you think of me now?" Charles asks tearfully, and Erik lurches quickly towards the bed.

"No, of course not," Erik gasps, and he doesn't even try to shove back the tears forming in his eyes, though crying does it make more difficult to talk clearly. "I'm sorry," he gets out. "I can't ... I can't help my dreams, Charles. I just ... I miss you. I think, at the end of the day, I always end up wondering about you, and then, and then how can you not be furious, after everything that's happened between us ..."

"But I'm not," Charles sighs, and he reaches out a hand towards Erik's shoulder, gratified when Erik clutches at it shakily. "It's a rough transition, of course," he admits, and both his and Erik's eyes move unwittingly to Charles' still legs. "I hate it somedays," he says softly. "I took my mobility for granted. But honestly, Erik," he continues, and now his gaze is back on Erik's face, his eyes similarly shiny with tears, "if my choice was to never walk again, but to have you back, in my life, at the school, I would take it."

Erik shivers. "You would?" he asks brokenly, and Charles nods once.

"In a heartbeat," he says fiercely. He reaches out to pet at Erik's hair, but the other man stops him, not pulling away, but stilling Charles' hand with his own. "What's wrong?" he asks, and Erik sighs and meets him head-on again.

"I can't give you that, Charles," he tells him honestly, and Charles' face is impassive. "I won't lie to you. I can't let you believe that our goals and aspirations will ever sync up, and then run away again. I won't hurt you anymore." He pulls Charles' fingers to his cheek and holds them there. "I'm sorry," he says again, and Charles nods.

"I know. I understand. We're in two different worlds, now." Erik nods slowly, and Charles smiles. "But it seems like, at least for tonight, our paths have crossed. Why don't we make the most of it?" With that, Erik curls around him, his longer frame wrapped protectively around Charles' shorter one, his head pillowed against the smaller man's chest, their fingers entwined. They remain like that until morning, and then Erik slips carefully away in the secrecy of dawn; and if Charles' lips happen to curl upwards just a bit when Erik's lips brush against his forehead, he'll let Erik chalk it up to coincidence as he closes the window behind himself, but leaves it unlocked, just in case.


End file.
